


a hazy shade of winter

by petals



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Christmas Time, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Minor blink and you miss it Allydia, Moving In Together, Pining, Sharing a Bed, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-08 02:44:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8827297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petals/pseuds/petals
Summary: “I think you should stay with me. You’ll be warm. My lights work, and I have access to the internet and a working television.”“Way to rub it in,” Stiles mumbles under his breath, folding his arms over his chest. “I’m very okay with me and my nest.”“I’ll call your dad,” Scott counters, mimicking Stiles by folding his arms over his own chest.Stiles squawks, dropping his arms. “You wouldn’t."Scott nods. “I would. I’ll even call my mom,” he threatens and Stiles’s mouth drops open.Stiles glares at him like he can threaten Scott back with his eyebrows, even though there is nothing that could beat the threat of calling Scott’s mom.“Fine,” Stiles sighs, throwing his hands up in the air. “You win. I’ll stay with you.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a gift for catrance on tumblr, as part of the Teen Wolf Secret Santa gift exchange. Happy Holidays love, I hope you enjoy this!

It starts with the trash. Or, more specifically, it starts with a warning letter informing Stiles that he needs to pay the bill in order for the company to continue collecting his trash.

He doesn’t pay it, so the shock he feels when he gets a notice that the trash company will no longer be stopping by his house, is…a bit of lie. He knew it was going to happen. He got three letters before this telling him that it would happen.

But it’s just trash.

Stiles still manages to get the company to take his trash without them knowing about it.

He tries dumping a few bags in his neighbors’ cans when they’re out on the curb, looking around suspiciously before he takes off down the street like he’s on a jog and not dispersing his trash around the neighborhood.

It works for a while until his lousy neighbor catches him one morning. The cranky old man on the corner that Stiles knew – he _knew_ he shouldn’t have been dumping his trash on, waves the paper in the air as he shouts at Stiles, causing a scene.

A big scene.

So big that it catches the attention of some of their other neighbors and he has to take off running because the old man is threatening to call the cops and _that_ is the last thing he needs, his dad rolling up in the cruiser with that look on his face he gets when Stiles does something to embarrass him.

It’s not a big deal. It’s just a trash service.

Stiles is struggling a bit this month and, well, no one at the McDonalds up the road stops him from dumping his trash in the back. So, take that cranky old man!

Stiles Stilinski always finds a way.

>>>>

The cable and internet being shut off might be completely Stiles’ fault.

The trash, he can admit that he _chose_ not to pay that bill, but this, well, it’s been a rough couple months, and while he’s working as much as he can, the money has been a little thin lately.

Stiles was so focused on making sure that the bill companies didn’t do something wild like shut his water off, that he thoughtlessly tossed the cable and internet bill aside, confident that they’d never turn that off.

They do turn it off. In the middle of Star Wars marathon. Or what was about to be a Star Wars marathon.

“What the fuck,” mutters Stiles, hitting the button on the remote a few times because surely, surely this is just a glitch with the box or there’s an outage somewhere.

It wouldn’t be the first time, so after ten angry minutes of profusely and aggressively hitting the button, Stiles is informed by a lovely woman on the phone that it is not an outage, but rather the consequence of not paying your bills.

Go figure.

But not to worry, Stiles has a plan.

“Allison, my favorite angel. You are looking—“ Stiles blinks.

Allison is standing in the doorway, a smile on her face, showing off her gorgeous dimples, as she brushes her fingers through her hair, panting lightly. There’s a flush to her cheeks, making her look warm and if it wasn’t for Lydia standing behind her looking murderously towards Stiles, he might thought she was sick.

“You are looking positively preoccupied,” Stiles finishes, nodding quickly. “Right. And I’m sure whatever you two were doing, it’s not nearly as fun as watching Star Wars.”

“You’re right about that,” Lydia mutters, as Allison breathes out a laugh.

“We’d love to watch it with you, but—“

“Rain check?”

“Yeah,” Allison whispers, biting back an apologetic smile.

Stiles waves them off because it’s fine. He has a plan. He always has a plan. It’s his thing, remember?

So when Scott swings his front door open fifteen minutes later, Stiles tries his best to look like the best thing Scott will ever see.

“Scotty,” Stiles shouts, winking at his best friend as he leans against the doorframe, really working his angles. “You free?”

Scott looks at him, brows pulled together in confusion. “Yeah. Why?” He asks. “What are you doing? Why do you look like you’re trying to sell me something.”

Stiles slumps, one hand clutching at his shirt over his heart in mock offense. “I’m insulted you’d think anything was up,” he says before he shoves his way into the house. “I can’t just be here for the pleasure of your company?”

He tosses his box set of Star Wars DVD’s down on Scott’s couch before he raids his kitchen.

“You can, but you don’t usually knock.”

“Right. Well, I went to Allison and Lydia’s place and they were…indisposed. I didn’t want to walk in on anything here.”

“Indisposed? Are they okay?” Scott asks, looking a little upset that something might be wrong with their friends.

Stiles can’t help but laugh a little. “I’m sure they’re much better now that I’m gone,” Stiles informs him, grabbing soda and chips out of Scott’s pantry.

Scott’s kitchen is always stocked. And Stiles loves him for it.

“Come on, Scotty. I’ve been thinking it’s about time I introduce you to Star Wars.”

“You’ve been thinking? You just said you went to Allison and Lydia’s first. I’m your second choice.”

Stiles pauses, mouth hung open as he tries to figure out how he can get out this one. “Only because their TV is bigger,” he decides, which is true. Lydia wasted nothing on that house, even for a television that Stiles watches more than she does. “But I was thinking of you the entire time I was there.”

“Right.” Scott rolls his eyes, taking the food as Stiles gets the movie started.

He might not have cable and internet, but he has a best friend who does, so that counts as something until Stiles can scrounge up some money to get his bills sorted.

>>>>

The electricity going out is unexpected. Stiles doesn’t know what happened with that.

The days are getting shorter as the seasons start to shift, so when Stiles gets home from work one night and it’s already pitch black, he reaches for the light and…nothing.

He flips the switch a few times, listening to the soft click as he shifts it from on to off. Confused, he moves through his apartment slowly.

The clock on the oven is off, same with the microwaves, and when Stiles heads to the basement to flip the breaker and nothing happens, does he realize that his electricity has suffered the same fate as the trash, cable, and internet. It’s been shut off.

Stiles leans against the basement wall for a while, head pressed against the cool cement and tries to figure out what he’s going to do.

He doesn’t want to tell his dad. His dad will make him move back in and Stiles doesn’t want to admit that maybe his dad had been right about the difficulties of living on his own.

It’s not like his dad is going to rub it in his face, but. No. Stiles can’t do that.

But Stiles needs to do something because winter is coming quickly, with it already being the start of November and what is he supposed to do, sit in his house in the dark and wait for morning?

No. Stiles can’t do that, either.

Luckily for him, Scott doesn’t question why he finds Stiles on his couch most days. He seems to embrace it.

“Scott,” Stiles mutters in shock, his eyes wide as he shrugs off his jacket, staring up at the television mounted on the wall. “You rented Harry Potter?”

“We’ve already watched Star Wars and Lord of the Rings, I figured we could marathon this now?”

“I can’t believe you’re—This is. Wow.”

Stiles thinks he might be a little turned on, oddly enough.

“You’re happy?”

“I’m happy? Scott, I could kiss you.”

Scott laughs, cheeks slightly flushed. “I also bought us some wings. You know, so we can eat and watch the movie. I hope you haven’t eaten.”

“God is this the feeling people get when they’re proposed to,” Stiles whispers, in complete awe. “Wings and Harry Potter. Scott, you truly know how to treat a man.”

“Oh shut up,” Scott mutters. “Sit down. I’ll grab the food; it should still be warm. No, wait. Don’t sit. I made lemonade.”

Stiles groans and wants to melt into the couch. Instead, he jumps up, rushing after his best friend.

Stiles doesn’t go to Scott’s house nightly, but he does stop by often enough that they’re able to marathon Breaking Bad, House, and the Harry Potter movies– which Scott loved, as Stiles knew he would. He didn’t think Scott’s favorite character would be Neville, but the unassuming brave Gryffindor boy, is an amazing character, so Stiles can understand.

Their marathons are always accompanied by meals. Scott makes pasta and roasts, casseroles that his mom makes that Stiles loves. He even bakes! If brownie mix and the cookie dough that’s already in little squares is baking, which it should be.

Scott doesn’t question the frequency of his best friend’s visits until Stiles comes over with a basket full of laundry and a grin on his face.

Stiles can tell that his best friend is confused when he lets him in the house, but he doesn’t say anything, not yet at least.

“Is everything okay?” Scott asks, leaning against the doorframe, his arms folded over his chest.

Stiles looks away from sniffing Scott’s laundry detergent, rubbing the scent out of his nose as he nods. “Everything’s fine. Perfect.”

“Are you sure?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well, for one thing, you’re doing your laundry at my place. That’s never happened before.”

“Right,” Stiles mutters, nodding as he dumps detergent into the machine. “There’s something wrong with my machine. I can’t get it to start,” which is the truth, thank you very much! “Is it cool with you if I—“

“What? Yeah, of course,” Scott assures him, his big brown eyes wide and earnest. It makes Stiles’s stomach swim. “You’re welcome to use anything that’s here. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m perfect, Scotty.” Stiles smiles and hopes that Scott can’t read through. “I am hungry, though. Let’s make tacos.”

Scott laughs, shaking his head. “Stiles, just because it’s Tuesday doesn’t mean we have to eat tacos.”

Stiles snorts. “No, I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what it means.”

“No, it doesn't.”

“Why Scott,” Stiles cries, hand over his heart, “does your mother know you lie with that mouth?”

“Yeah, and she knows you taught me how to lie,” Scott jokes, slinging his arm around Stiles' shoulders as he leads him towards the kitchen, laughing as he ruffles Stiles' hair.

Stiles feels a bit bad for lying to his friend about what’s going on his life, how things are starting to really not be okay with him. But…

It’s not a big deal, just another minor misstep in Stiles ability to get his life back on track. But like with everything that runs on tracks (trains, he’s talking about trains), there are always stops along the way.

These are just bumps in his journey towards being financially stable, and lying to Scott isn’t going to be the end of the world in the grand scheme of things, not when it stops his friend from worrying about him.

>>>>

Stiles little bump in the road turns into a very big bump in the road.

Winter comes quickly and angrily like she does. It leaves the ground white and slick, covered in a sheet of ice.

The day his gas is shut off, there’s frost on his windows. It trickles into his bones the longer he’s without heat. Luckily his coat is thick and heavy, soft on the inside as he burrows inside of it, swaddled in a pile of blankets on the couch.

The snow keeps him from going to see Scott, and without power, Stiles doesn’t have a way to charge his phone to assure his friend that he’s fine but he’ll see him soon.

Stiles has been at Scott’s house almost every day for the last month, so it feels weird to be trapped in his own house with a few candles lit and nothing to do besides try and not think about the cold and how many pairs of socks he needs to wear in order to be able to feel his toes.

Stiles feels nervous and jittery, his body wanting to move, to do something besides sit and read books that he hasn’t touched in god knows how long. Maybe not ever besides to throw on a shelf when he first got them.

There’s a steady thrum of energy under his skin but if it’s so cold in his house, he can only imagine what it’ll feel like outside where the wind is whipping angrily and snow is falling quickly and heavily.

And with all of his billing companies shutting down his shit, Stiles is quite literally screwed because it’s a few weeks from Christmas and he can’t get into work because they haven’t plowed his street and his car is trapped. No one is going anywhere in this snow.

Stiles Always-Finds-A Way Stilinski is beginning to think that maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t know what he’s doing anymore.

He thought he’d have everything figured out before it got to this point, but here he is, trapped in his living room without any of his utilities but his water shut off, and what is he going to do?

Stiles just hopes that something gives for him soon, like he’ll wait up tomorrow and all of the snow will be melted and he get into work and beg his boss for doubles and every shift that he can get without selling his soul. If he even has a job, since he hasn’t been able to charge his phone and get into contact with his boss.

>>>>

The snowplow driving down his street is like music to Stiles’s ears. He almost wants to _cry_ because _finally_.

Finally.

It’s nearing-- Huh. Stiles doesn’t actually know what time it is.

It’s dark outside, so it’s somewhere between four in the afternoon and six in the morning. And it’s been dark out for a while now, so Stiles is going to guess that it’s almost ten in the evening, maybe?

Time is lost on Stiles after three days in his freezing house.

Freezing being a very generous term to describe just how cold he actually is.

Stiles can see his breath every time he breathes out. He can just barely feel his toes and he’s on his twelfth pair of socks and he’s wearing three pairs of gloves and he has his hands wrapped around a mug of lukewarm hot cocoa- the pipes are still a little frozen, it’s the best he could do – but he’s still not completely warm.

The cold is starting to seep into his bones, settling and leaving him feeling heavy and brittle.

Just as Stiles starts to feel himself drift off, someone is banging on his door, loud and angry. It causes Stiles to jump, tripping and falling to the ground as he tries to unroll himself from his blanket burrito.

Stiles shivers as he moves towards the door, his teeth beginning to chatter. But it’s nothing compared to the sheer dread he feels when he sees Scott standing on his porch, looking worried.

“Hey, Scott,” Stiles mutters, pulling the door open a hair to try and hide the fact he’s wearing full winter gear in his own house. “Uh. I was just about to head out.” Lie. “What are you doing here?”

“I was worried. You haven’t answered your phone and you haven’t returned my texts. Your phone is ringing once and then going to voicemail.”

“Oh. Is it?” Stiles rubs the back of his neck, shrugging. It causes the door to fall open a little more and Scott frowns as he peeks inside.

Scott’s head tilts to the side as he looks behind Stiles. He’s silent as he steps into the house, stepping around Stiles. “Why do you only have candles lit?” Scott asks and then his eyes go wide. “Stiles, I can see my breath.”

“The doors open,” Stiles tries and defends.

“It’s freezing in here. Stiles your cheeks and nose are pink. And why are all the lights off?” Scott asks, reaching for the switch next to Stiles’s head.

Stiles slaps his hands away from the switch, curling his fingers around Scott’s wrist and tries to tug him towards the door. Tries being the operative word because Scott is built like a brick house and he’s strong, so Stiles twelve-socked-booted feet slide against the floor. And he doesn’t, no matter what anyone says, whine when he can’t get Scott to move.

“I’m fine. Everything is fine.”

Scott fixes him with a look that says _‘I’ve known you for decades and I know when you’re lying’._ Which first of all: rude. And second of all: true. But before Stiles can properly defend his life, Scott is maneuvering the grip Stiles has on his wrist so that Scott is holding onto Stiles’s wrist, holding it up so Stiles can see it properly.

“Your fingers look huge.”

“I’m packing on my holiday weight,” Stiles sighs, pulling his hand back and tucking it into his coat pocket. He kicks the door closed, leaning against it, because why let it in even more cold air? “You shouldn’t be judging me for that, Scott. Not everyone can maintain their figure like you can.”

Scott still has that look on his face that says he doesn’t believe a word Stiles is saying, causing Stiles to sigh and throw his hands up in the air.

“Did you come over just to give me that look? You look like my _dad_.”

“I came over because I was worried about you, and I see that I was right.”

“About?” asks Stiles, sniffing.

“Well, this for one thing,” Scott says, reaching around Stiles to flip the light switch repeatedly, frowning deeply when none of the lights come on. “Yeah. Explains the candles. And the cold?”

“They turned the gas off,” Stiles mutters, pretending to examine his nails, even though the many layers of gloves are hiding them from view.

“What else did they turn off?”

Stiles shrugs. “I still have water.”

“That’s it? Stiles, there are laws against this. They can’t turn off your utilities in the middle of winter.”

“It’s not the middle of winter,” Stiles sighs, shaking his head. “It hasn’t even really started yet. We’ve still got a few days.”

“Even still. It’s nearly as cold in here as it is outside. I can’t let you stay here.”

“I’m fine. I am,” Stiles cries when Scott raises a bushy brow at him. “The streets are plowed so I can finally go to work.”

“And when you come home at night?”

“I have a nest.”

“A nest?” Scott parrots, looking like he really doesn’t want to hear what that means.

“Yeah,” Stiles nods, motioning towards the other room. “It’s actually really nice. It’s me in several layers of clothes, my winter coat, wrapped in every blanket that I own. Very cozy.”

Scott shakes his head, looking every bit like his mother does when she’s heard something from Stiles that she can’t believe. It’s a nice look on him. Stiles kind of likes it. Or would like it, if Scott’s crooked jaw didn’t just set in determination like he _knows_ he’s about to get his way.

As if.

“I think you should stay with me. You’ll be warm. My lights work, and I have access to the internet and a working television.”

“Way to rub it in,” Stiles mumbles under his breath, folding his arms over his chest. “I’m very okay with me and my nest.”

“I’ll call your dad,” Scott counters, mimicking Stiles by folding his arms over his own chest.

Stiles squawks, dropping his arms. “You wouldn’t,” he splutters.

Scott nods. “I would. I’ll even call my _mom_ ,” he threatens and Stiles’s mouth drops open.

Stiles glares at him like he can threaten Scott back with his eyebrows, even though there is nothing that could beat the threat of calling Scott’s mom.

“Fine,” Stiles sighs, throwing his hands up in the air. “You win. I’ll stay with you.”

Scott smiles, soft and pleased, releasing a satisfied breath as Stiles stomps towards his bedroom to pack a bag. He grabs a candle on his way, glaring at Scott over his shoulder as he trips towards his bedroom.

>>>>

Scott doesn’t say anything on the drive to his place, just shoots Stiles these worried looks while the heat runs on high, defrosting Stiles’ nose and his cheeks, reminding him what it feels like to be human.

Stiles only feels a little weird about what happened. At being caught out with absolutely none of his utilities working. Not even the water, which Stiles found out when he tried to clean his hot cocoa mug. Yeah. Embarrassing. But Scott just smiled at him sincerely; taking Stiles’ duffle bag from him and helping him carry it out to his car.

Stiles’ car is even more buried than it was before, the snowplow really doing an excellent job of shoving all of the snow on the street into Stiles’s car, forcing him to abandon his plan of driving himself to Scott’s so he can at least pretend that he has a say in the matter.

“I’m going to start you a bath,” Scott says, flicking on the light in his living room when they walk into his place.

“I don’t need you to do that for me,” Stiles mutters.

“No, but you smell awful, and I’m sure by the time the tub is full, you’ll be out of all of those layers,” Scott laughs. “You look like Joey when he put on all of Chandler’s clothes.”

“Did you just—You used a pop culture reference, didn’t you? Oh, Scotty,” Stiles cheers, pulling his friend in, to press a loud kiss to his cheek. “You run the bath. I’ll strip.”

Scott rolls his eyes, shaking his head as he disappears.

Stiles watches him go, feeling a giant swell of fondness in his chest because he’s always known Scott was amazing, always. He’s always known that Scott is kind and generous and willing to help anyone, so it’s not that much of a surprise that Scott has pulled him out of a shitty situation, but still.

Scott’s his best friend and Stiles can’t help but feel so fucking proud that he gets to call him that. That Scott is his best friend and he’s Scott’s. And his best friend is willing to give up one side of his bed – Stiles is _not_ sleeping on the couch – to help his friend out.

Scott is—He’s a good egg. Stiles thinks he can keep him.

>>>>

Stiles loses his job. Lost his job. Definitely past tense, if the angry voicemails from his boss are anything to go by.

He listens to them after his bath, bundled up in a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie that he stole from Scott ages ago that might as well be his since he’s never going to give it back.

His boss’s voicemails are getting more impatient by the second and Stiles can’t really blame him when he finally calls Stiles out on the no call no show, because he definitely didn’t call and he definitely didn’t show.

And not to totally blame his problems on someone other than himself, but… It wasn’t completely his fault. Just a little bit.

“Everything okay?” Scott asks, holding out a steaming mug in front of Stiles, who wants to cry because it’s actual hot cocoa with tiny marshmallows that burns his tongue like a good cup of hot cocoa should.

He’s so grateful that he doesn’t even say anything when Scott throws a blanket down on top of him, nodding in satisfaction after he’s tucked the edges under Stiles’s thighs.

“I’ve been fired,” Stiles informs him, raising his mug in a salute. “Cheers. Right?”

“Wait. Really?”

“Apparently not being able to call your boss because you didn’t pay your electricity bill to let him know that your car has been snowed in is actually a problem. Oh well.” Stiles shrugs and takes a long, heavy drink.

It’s ridiculous how happy he is to have his mouth burning.

“Maybe you could call him and explain. I’m sure he’ll understand.”

“You really think Harris would understand?”

Scott opens his mouth to argue but then sighs, nodding. “Well, maybe now you can find a better paying job. Glass half full?”

“I’m unemployed, in debt, and staying with my best friend because I can’t get my life together. Glass half empty.”

“You're staying with your best friend, who wants you here, and is happy to have you. Glass half full.”

“I’m mooching off my best friend just before the holidays. Glass half empty,” Stiles counters.

Scott doesn’t so much as blink, his expression patient like he expects to have to talk Stiles into the good. “You’re no longer freezing, wearing a normal amount of layers, and you don’t smell like manure. Glass half full.”

“I did not smell that bad.”

Scott laughs, resting his head against the back of the couch. “Maybe not that bad, but pretty bad.”

Stiles sighs, fond and content. There’s a soft tug in his gut, a funny twist when Scott looks up at him, a crooked smile on his face. “Shut up,” Stiles mumbles around the rim of his mug. “Put a movie on. I’m recovering from hypothermia. I can’t do it myself.”

Scott doesn’t argue as he gets up, setting his mug down. “Anything in mind?”

“I wanna marathon the Scream movies,” Stiles decides, knowing that Scott has the box set. A gift from Malia. “My life is a nightmare, so I might as well watch people actually living a nightmare. No. Not really a nightmare. I think that’d be Saw, really.”

“I think being chased by a serial killer counts as a nightmare.”

“Not when you’re only getting stabbed.”

Scott frowns at him, tossing him the remote as he drops back down on the couch, the DVD loading on TV. “You’re weird.”

“It’s probably from the cold. I hear it does things to your head,” Stiles explains, nodding. “Hey. Did you know that you can get frostbite in as little as two minutes, which is honestly pretty shocking since I was exposed for a while and wasn’t bitten by frost.”

“You really are weird,” Scott laughs, but there’s not bite to his words, so Stiles grins at him, satisfied when Scott smiles back at him.

Scott’s smile drops for a moment, looking at the television and then back to Stiles. “This isn’t the one with the scene involving the garage door, right?”

“Why, Scott? Are you worried about having nightmares again?”

“I was ten,” Scott cries. “It was—Everyone would be afraid of that!”

“Aw, don’t worry, Scotty. I’ll hold your hand when the scene comes on. Don’t worry.”

Scott mumbles something under his breath, folding his arms over his chest when Stiles reaches for him. “Can’t we watch the second one?”

“No,” Stiles groans, trying to sound disgusted. “We’re watching a classic. I’ll protect you, don’t worry.”

Scott sighs and throws his hand out for Stiles to grab onto. Stiles has to bite down on his lip to keep from laughing.

>>>>

Stiles doesn’t have much luck finding a new job. It’s not really the end of the world, not entirely. It’s a little bit of the end of the world, but more like if the world ended by black plague instead of giant balls of fire from the sky. Maybe. Stiles is a little fuzzy on the black plague.

Scott doesn’t seem to mind. He always shrugs when Stiles complains, patting Stiles on the shoulder and reminding him that he’ll find something.

“It’s probably better that you’re not working now. It’s the holidays. People are brutal. And everything is seasonal, so you’re going to be lucky if you even find something that’s willing to keep you on for more than two weeks.”

“Okay, but that’s still two weeks worth of money that go to my ‘Turn Stiles Utilities Back On Fund’. Or my, ‘Buy My Loved One's Christmas Gifts Fund’.”

“You don’t have to get me anything. So there. One less person to worry about.”

“Scott,” Stiles laughs, shaking his head. “I have to get you something.”

“No, you don’t. Knowing you didn’t freeze to death on your couch is gift enough. Really,” Scott assures him, sliding Stiles a grilled cheese sandwich to go with his tomato soup. “Or, if you’re really worried about it, you can always try making presents.”

“Making presents?”

“Yeah, like we did when we were kids.”

“You want me to glue macaroni to a piece of paper and give it to you for Christmas? I’m twenty-five, Scott,” Stiles groans, resisting the urge to drown himself in his soup.

It’s pointless; Scott would save him.

The hero. Ugh.

“It doesn’t have to macaroni. I’m sure you’ll think of something,” Scott decides and he says it like he actually means it. Like he thinks Stiles is capable of coming up with gift ideas that he can make.

And he can come up with ideas, obviously, but he’s an adult! He can’t show up to a gift exchange with his arms full of construction paper covered in uncooked pasta and cotton balls that look like snowmen.

Stiles sighs at the thought. “I just want to give you something that’ll pay you back for letting me stay here. You know? You’re always doing shit for me and I just—I just want to return the favor.”

When Stiles looks up, Scott’s smiling at him fondly. “You don’t have to buy me anything,” Scott promises. “And you really don’t have to return any favor, because it wasn’t a favor letting you stay here. I kind of like it. Having you around all the time, I mean.”

Stiles thinks that maybe Scott is blushing if the pink hue of his cheeks is anything to go off of, and huh. Isn’t that odd, Stiles thinks, feeling his stomach do that twisting, knotting thing.

>>>>

It snows again on the third day that Stiles is with Scott.

It’s not as heavy as it was, the flakes soft and fluffy as they drift from the sky to the ground.

Stiles sits curled up next to the window, feeling settled in a way that he hasn’t in weeks. He’s still unemployed, still has a house that doesn’t have working utilities, but he has Scott and half of a warm bed that he’s trying his hardest not to steal entirely.

Scott’s mom really knows how to pick out a good mattress.

“You wanna go out?” Scott asks.

Stiles feels like a rod has been shoved into his back with how quickly he sits up, staring at his best friend. He knows that his mouth is gaping open because what?

“In the snow,” Scott clarifies, looking down at his toes. “Outside.”

“Oh,” Stiles mutters, nodding. “Yeah. All right.”

It’s not as chilly outside as Stiles would have thought it would be, but it’s silent and still. Their feet crunch in the snow, and Stiles stumbles a bit as they move around Scott’s neighborhood.

They talk about everything. Lydia and Allison, how they need to see the two of them soon, Malia, and wondering how she’s doing in grad school after working her ass off to get there. Scott tells him how he ran into Isaac at the store the other week and made plans to see him after the holidays when neither of them is busy. Stiles tells Scott how he didn’t get that interview for the job he applied for, but he’s not worried about it. And how he’s worried about what he’s going to do for rent since he was stupid enough to rent a house when the lease isn’t up until April.

Scott, like he always does, promises that they’ll figure something out.

Stiles shrugs as he drags his hands along the back of a bench as they enter the park, feeling the snow filling up in his hands with a gleeful sort of happiness that he hasn’t felt in a while. He listens to Scott talk about their options – _their_ options, like Stiles’s life, is Scott’s problem – while he wads the snow up into a ball. He waits for the right moment before—

Scott’s words come to a halt immediately, his mouth hanging open when he looks at Stiles.

Stiles’s ribs are starting to ache from the force of his laugh until Scott pelts him with a snowball to the jaw.

“Oh,” mumbles Stiles, blinking. “Well then.”

Scott smiles at him before he dashes away, hiding behind a tree and dropping to the ground so he can gather up a bunch of snow. Stiles hides behind the bench beside him, throwing snowballs faster than he can make them.

“You’re going to regret that, McCall.”

Scott’s laugh is sharp in response, a snowball hitting Stiles in the shoulder.

“So you wanna play like that,” Stiles mutters to himself, setting snowballs in his arms so he can prepare for a total attack. He’s not going to let Scott get the upper hand that quickly. Not a chance. “You should be scared, Scott. I’m an amazing shot.”

“Ha. I’ve seen you play lacrosse, remember?”

“Low blow, McCall. Low blow.”

“It’s the truth, isn’t it?”

“You weren’t that good until I took pity on you and helped you practice. You excelled because I held back.”

Scott laughs and Stiles thinks that’s it. He dives up and starts racing towards him, pelting the balls in his hands at Scott. He hits him a couple times, once in the face and twice in the stomach. Scott tries to throw a few back at him, but he eventually gives up, laughing as he wipes the snow off his face.

“Ha, I win,” Stiles cheers, throwing his hands in the air and jumping up and down.

Scott’s still rubbing snow out of his eyes when Stiles begins to spin around. He makes it the full circle before something—someone collides with his middle and sends him crashing to the ground, the snow wrapped around him like a blanket.

“Holy shit that’s cold,” Stiles groans, opening his eyes to see Scott peering down at him, a smile on his face.

“I win,” Scott says.

Stiles blinks because that twisty, knotty feeling is back in his stomach. He can’t figure out if it’s because he ate something bad or if it’s something else. He doesn’t think he ate anything odd, not with the way his stomach swoops and then drops when Scott wets his lips.

Stiles has a moment of sheer panic rake through his body when he thinks that Scott is going to kiss him, and then another when he realizes that he wants Scott to kiss him.

Scott’s smile shifts to something soft as he reaches forward, his fingers brushing Stiles's cheek. And _holy_ _shit_ , this is it. Stiles releases a sigh and feels his eyes flutter close, only to blink back open when Scott says, “you had some snow on your cheek.”

Right. Snow. Cold snow, if the losing feeling in his ass tells him anything.

“Get off, you’re heavy,” Stiles groans, shoving at Scott’s shoulders.

Scott flops down on the snow next to him with a sigh, spreading his arms out like he’s going to make a snow angel. “I love it when it snows,” he sighs. “I like how quiet it is, how you can feel how quiet it is.”

“Yeah, it’s nice,” Stiles mumbles, trying to swallow down the disappointment – the stupid, unnecessary, ridiculous disappointment that his best friend didn’t kiss him in the snow.

>>>>

Later, when Stiles is lying on his side of Scott’s bed, he thinks about the way he felt lying in the snow with Scott above him.

He still doesn’t understand that feeling, the one that leaves him feeling a little shaky and unsure. Unsure of himself and his own feelings, especially now that he no longer operates on thirty on a ten scale when it comes to having feelings for people.

Stiles still over does it, how could he not? He’s Stiles. Just look at him neglecting to pay his bills. He didn’t just ignore one bill; he ignored them _all_. True dedication, honestly. But that’s bills, it’s not another person.

Stiles can’t remember the last time he even thought about another person. Everything has just been so-- A lot. It’s been a lot.

Slowly, though, thanks to Scott, things are beginning to settle for him and Scott’s…there. Not in the way that Stiles is wanting to settle. Or. No. Not that Scott is settling, because he’s not. Scott is the furthest thing away from settling.

He’s strong and brave, warm and honest. He cares, a lot as if allowing Stiles into his house isn’t enough; he let Stiles take up his bed without putting up any kind of fight. He didn’t even _argue_ about it, while Stiles had already prepared the argument of a century as to why he’s going to get a share of the bed. But he didn’t even have to do because Scott’s that good.

Scott’s good. They’re not oil and water, mixing for the barest of moments before separated, they’re peanut butter and jelly.

God, maybe Stiles needs to sleep or something because he’s not making any sense even to himself, which is a feat, that surprises even him.

Rolling onto to his side, Stiles stares at Scott’s sleeping face. His face is smushed against the pillow, his mouth open slightly as he cuddles the sheets.

What a stupid face, Stiles thinks, huffing as he rolls to face away from Scott.

>>>>

Stiles is bored. Lying on the couch, counting the paint strokes of the ceiling bored. That bored.

Scott’s at work for a few more hours, leaving Stiles alone to wilt away and become one with the furniture because he has nothing better to do than become the first person to transform into a dust bunny.

But well, a bored Stiles is not a good Stiles. So, he doesn’t what he does best, and begins rooting through Scott’s things. He’s seen most of everything, including the _dirty_ stuff that Scott keeps hidden in his bottom drawer because he’s a bottom drawer kind of guy. Apparently under the bed or a shoebox is too obvious.

So Stiles has already seen that, but there is a slew of boxes in his basement that hasn't been touched by Stiles, which is just…unacceptable.

Some of the boxes are filled with Scott’s summer clothes, funky shirts and jean shorts that he can’t wear right now. Of course, he keeps his summer clothes someplace special instead of shoving around them in his drawers like Stiles does when he's avoiding them during winter.

It’s all boring stuff until Stiles finds a box of Christmas decorations. A tiny two foot fall tinsel tree in a hideous shade of blue that really wants to be green but isn’t. There’s a ton of lights and a candle that looks like a snowman.

Stiles shoves everything back into the box and lugs it up the stairs, lying on the floor at the top of the stairs because holy shit there is more in that box than Stiles has seen because it’s heavy and his thighs feel a bit like jelly.

Scott comes home when Stiles is wrapping a towel under the tree as a skirt, pleased with the way that the grey makes the blue tinsel actually look blue.

“You went through my things,” Scott observes, shrugging out of his jacket and hanging it up on a hook. A hook!

Stiles is sick of him.

“You were holding out on me,” Stiles explains. “I thought I was living with Scoorge.”

Scott rolls his eyes, tugged his scarf off and Stiles wants to throw an ornament at his head because his stomach his doing that thing again. He stares as Scott hangs the scarf next to the coat, toeing off his boots before he strides towards Stiles, holding up a bag of takeout.

“I take that back. You’re my favorite,” Stiles decides, breathing in the smell of Italian. “Please have chicken parm.”

Scott grins as he hands a box over. “I was hoping I’d get it right. Thought it’d be a nice surprise,” Scott says. “Where’d you find the tree?”

“In your basement. The color is awful on that thing, by the way, but I figured it wouldn’t hurt to put up.”

Scott shrugs. “I forgot it was down there.” He sits across from Stiles, his takeout box placed in his lap as he grabs one of the tiny ornaments Stiles found in the larger box. He loops the hook around a branch and grins, proud of himself. “This was a good idea.”

“All of my ideas are good, Scott.”

“Right.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“No. What?” Stiles asks, narrowing his eyes.

Scott laughs, a bit of spaghetti sauce on the corner of his mouth that is stupidly distracting. “I didn’t say anything. I wasn’t going to say anything. Eat or hang up an ornament.”

Stiles glares at him for another moment, trying to see if he can scare it out of Scott before he sighs, hanging up his own ornament because why not.

They decorate the tree and eat together, laughing when Stiles starts hooking ornaments around Scott’s ears, slipping the hooks in his mouth so the ornaments hang from his lips. He takes a picture, his ribs aching as he laughs at it. He sends it to Allison and Malia, knowing how much they’ll enjoy it.

“Come on, it’s time for lights.”

“The tree is too small for lights. I think we might need a special kind.”

“I’m not thinking about the lights,” Stiles tells him, tossing him a rolled up coil of lights. “We’re going to hang these up on the walls.”

“On the walls? Shouldn’t these go outside?”

“So everyone besides us can enjoy them?” Stiles snorts. “No. I don’t think so. Get to hanging.”

They spend an hour hanging the lights up, creating zigzag patterns on the walls, finding a ladder so they can tack the strands (going between the wires to pin them down, not pierce them, obviously) to the ceiling.

When they’re finished, they turn the lights off and Stiles smiles as the room begins to glow a soft rainbow of colors. When he looks at Scoot, Stiles sees that he’s smiling as well, his face looking pink because of the lights.

“Come on,” Stiles mumbles, grabbing Scott’s arm and tugging him down on the couch. He lies down next to him, shoving Scott into the back of the couch so most of Stiles’s ass isn’t hanging off the edge. “You’re warm,” Stiles tells him, unsure of what to say now that they’re here.

Scott shifts, sliding an arm under Stiles so that he can pull him closer, helping to secure his space on the couch. Stiles's stomach does the thing again and he feels like he’s melting.

“Are you cold?”

“No, just making an observation.”

Scott nods. “I know I said this earlier,” he says, “but this really was a good idea. It feels like we’re looking at the stars.”

“If I shove one of the strands around would you make a wish?”

“Maybe,” Scott laughs. “Would you?”

“It depends on how hard you shove them. If it’s just enough to get them move slightly, then no. But, if you get them to soar across the room, then yes.”

“Then I’ll make sure to send them flying.”

Stiles laughs, closing his eyes and tucking his face into Scott’s shoulder. He’s warm and content, the perfect conditions for dozing off.

>>>>

Picture The Parent Trap, where Lindsey Lohan stuffs herself inside of a closet with a phone. Don’t picture London, though, or Lindsey Lohan in a soft pink robe faking a British accent until she’s properly hidden. Don’t picture coats or anyone shuffling candy against the receiver of a completely out of date phone. So really, don’t picture any of that.

Stiles has no idea why he feels like The Parent Trap is at all relatable to shuffling around awkwardly in Scott’s kitchen with his phone pressed to his ear, waiting for Malia to answer. It’s the best spot to avoid being overheard, while still being able to hear the shower running.

“Hi, Stiles,” Malia chirps into the phone, happy and not at all sounding like she was doing anything that required her to have to answer on ring six when Stiles was really beginning to panic.

“I need your help,” he says in lieu of a greeting because Scott showers fast.

“What did you do?” Malia asks and excuse her.

“Nothing,” Stiles hisses, peeking down the hallway to make sure that the coast is clear. “I just need help.”

Malia is silent for a moment before she says, “with what?”

“I’ve been suffering from a thing.”

“A thing.”

“Yeah. A thing thing.”

“A thing thing?” Malia repeats. “Is that supposed to mean something?”

“It’s a feeling I’ve been getting. It’s like…sometimes my stomach does this weird thing where it drops, but at the same time, it feels like it’s twisting and knotting up. Not in a painful way, more in like, a fluttery kind of way,” Stiles explains, sighing. “It keeps happening and I don’t know what it means… Kind of.”

Malia hums and Stiles can picture her nodding, brown eyes set in concentration. “What do you mean by kind of?”

“Well,” Stiles mumbles, high pitched and drawn out. “It’s Scott. He’s making my stomach feel like it’s floating and twisting every time that I see him.”

“Oh,” Malia laughs. “You finally realized you like Scott.”

“That’s not—Wait. Finally? Finally? What does that mean?” Stiles asks, his stomach dropping straight out of his ass and onto the floor when he hears the telltale squeak of the shower knobs being turned towards off. “Malia, you better explain this to me quickly. I love you, I do. You’re wonderful and amazing, but I have like, three seconds before I freak the absolute shit out and Scott hears this conversation.”

“It just means that you finally know you like him.”

“ _I_ finally know? Who else could possibly know? It’s my stomach.”

“I asked Lydia about it months ago. She told me that I shouldn’t say anything. Said it wasn’t my place to tell you your feelings, and that you had to realize them on your own. Now you have, so. Go,” Malia says, hanging up on him.

And rude, Stiles thinks, shoving his phone in his pocket and trying to tell himself that Malia has been spending too much time with those grad school friends of hers and that it’s obviously affected her ability to think rationally. Shame, since Stiles always thought she was pretty good at rational thinking.

>>>>

Malia might…Malia might have had a point, Stiles realizes when he follows Scott into work on Christmas Eve to give the animals staying a potty break, along with fresh water until he can stop in in the morning for their Christmas breakfast.

It’s something Stiles has seen a thousand times, but Scott is cuddling one of the new kittens while promising the others that they’ll get a turn soon, and Stiles kind of wants to melt into a puddle on the floor and slip away because no.

No.

No.

Absolutely not.

He’s not going to fall on the floor and shove his face into the concrete and yell like Joey on Friends does when he turns 30, ‘why god, why? We had a deal!’ Not like the deal was a binding contract or anything, Stiles didn’t have to prick his thumb to give a drop of blood or anything like that, but he remembers being twelve and making a birthday wish that nothing would ever ruin his and Scott’s friendship.

And hello? Feelings? Feelings ruin everything.

He should have never called Malia. He should have called someone who wouldn’t have given a shit about his feelings, like Derek or Boyd. He hasn’t seen the in a while, which is just double insurance that they wouldn’t have confirmed his stomach thing is feelings.

The worst diagnose Stiles has ever gotten in his life.

“You want a kitten?” Scott offers, holding out a cute little calico that meows when she looks at Stiles, trying her best to squirm back to where she was pressed against Scott’s chest.

Stiles doesn’t blame her. It’s a nice chest. A nice, good, solid chest. Stiles is a little partial to it himself, unfortunately.

“No, she looks like she’ll eat me if I take her from you,” Stiles decides, but he does turn a bit to shove his finger into the crate in front of him, scratching at the ears of a beagle puppy, her head trapped in a cone. “This is cruel, take it off.”

“I can’t. She’s a known stitches puller. Repeated offender,” Scott sighs like he’s disappointed.

“Merry Christmas, pup, he’s run away with your dignity, hasn’t he?”

Scott laughs, kissing the kitten one last time before he tucks her back into the crate. He doesn’t take any more out, but he does pet them before gently shoving them towards the adult cat in the corner, who has been watching Scott like she’s grateful for him.

Stiles can’t blame her for that. Five kittens are a lot.

“Hey,” Scott calls, getting his attention. “I know that you were worried about what you were going to get me, but when we get back home, I want to give you your present before you head to your dad’s in the morning.”

“Scott,” Stiles groans, resisting the urge to hit his head against the cage in front of him. He hasn’t been thinking about Christmas or gifts at all, not when he’s been diagnosed with feelings and prior to that when his stomach was doing the thing and he was in denial about what it meant.

“I don’t—“ Stiles starts, wondering how he’s going to say that he has nothing.

“Don’t worry about it, okay? It’s just something silly. No,” Scott mutters, shaking his head. “It’s not silly. It’s just—You’ll see, okay?”

Stiles makes a face but nods anyway, scratching the beagle's nose one last time. Fine. He’ll let himself be spoiled.

>>>>

Scott forces Stiles to sit down in front of their tiny tree alone while he rushes off to get the gift.

The lights are off except for the ones they hung themselves. Stiles stares out of the window, watching as snow begins to trickle down from the sky and coat the already white ground. The corners of his lips tick up in the faintest hint of a smile, feeling the same sort of amazing he did as a child when there was a promise of a white Christmas.

The sound of footsteps moving towards him causes Stiles to look up, smiling a little white when he sees the perfectly wrapped box in Scott’s arms. Scott doesn’t hand it to him when he sits down, instead, he keeps it in his lap, wrapping his arms around it protectively.

“I know that you’ve been worried about what you’re going to do for gifts since you’re kind of homeless now. Or, almost homeless, I guess.”

“Thanks, Scott,” Stiles mutters, laughing lightly.

“No, I didn’t mean that in a bad way. I just mean,” Scott sighs, brows furrowed. “I just want you to know that I bought most of this before I knew what was going on with you. And I’ve been debating on if I should even give you this or not since I didn’t want to make you feel bad, but.”

Scott shrugs, passing the box over towards Stiles. Stiles looks at it, the paper green with silver stripes that twinkle when tilted just right, and it’s a little heavy, making barely any noise when Stiles shakes it before he starts tearing into the paper.

Stiles shoves everything aside, breaking the tape Scott laid down to keep the box flaps closed.

Inside there are box sets of DVD’s that neither of them owns like, James Bond, all of the Marvel movies up until this point, the Batman movies, and Doctor Who. Stiles can’t help but smile, pulling them out and lining them up on the floor next to him so that can take a look at everything.

“We started watching all of that stuff together, so I thought…”

“No. Dude, this is perfect,” Stiles breathes, smiling and nodding at Scott. “I wasn’t expecting anything, but this is awesome. I’m a little disappointed that Gossip Girl isn’t in there, though, but it’s on Netflix so I won’t freak out too much.”

Scott laughs and Stiles feels better seeing that he’s not longer tense and worried.

“No, Scott this is awesome. As much as I want to get started on one of these tonight, we’re going to have to wait until after Christmas to really lose ourselves.”

“Yeah, I figured we’d be needing more until you’re ready to move back to your place.”

Stiles nods, running his fingers along the DVDs as he thinks about how generous this is, to give Stiles all of this, especially considering how expensive some of these can be. Stiles is grateful and happy, content to know that Scott at least got him something that they can both enjoy, so his money wasn’t entirely wasted on Stiles.

“Dude, seriously. Thanks,” Stiles says, smiling.

Scott nods like it’s not a big but it is. It really is because Stiles hasn’t gotten him anything, and he wishes that there was something he could give him after everything that Scott has given him, especially with how amazing Scott has been to him.

Scott let Stiles into his home without so much as blinking and Stiles is so full of warmth for his friend that he wants to melt into him and wrap himself around him for a long while. And something about that train of thought causes Stiles to learn forward and press his lips against Scott’s.

It’s soft, the faintest hint of pressure before Stiles breathes out through his nose, his stomach flipping excitedly when he presses against Scott a little more, kissing him in a way that he’s never done before, because Stiles has kissed Scott on the mouth before, but never with his fingers in Scott’s hair and tongue running along Scott’s lazily.

If Stiles thought his stomach thing was bad, it’s nothing compared to the way his heart feels like it’s going to beat right out of him from where it’s positioned in his throat.

There’s a steady thrum under his skin and a pleased sigh leaves his lips when he pulls away, blinking slowly as he comes back to himself.

“What was that for?” Scott asks, looking at Stiles carefully.

Stiles shrugs. “I don’t know. Or well, I do know. But like, if it wasn’t okay then it was just a friend being an idiot. Unless it was okay, then I just—yeah. You gave me this awesome gift and let me stay in your place, and I don’t have much to give besides myself, so I’m offering you that. Me,” Stiles says and then he wrinkles his nose, shaking his head.

“That sounded like I was prostituting myself. I’m not, just to clarify,” Stiles mumbles. “I mean it in like a, hey if this kiss is okay then we can totally do it again, like, five minutes ago and as many minutes following as you want, because I kind of, sort of like you, you know. _Like_ you, if that makes sense,” Stiles admits, looking at Scott quickly before he waves his hand around, unable to stop himself from gesturing wildly. “Unless it wasn’t okay, because then—“

“No, it was okay,” Scott promises, wrapping his fingers around Stiles’s wrist. He’s smiling, soft and sincere. “More than okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I just wanted to make sure it wasn’t like, some—some messed up way of thanking me for letting you stay here.”

Stiles shakes his head because what? “Scott. Do you honestly think I’d mess you like that?”

“Well, not. But I—“

“Wait,” Stiles pauses, frowning down at the floor for a moment before he looks back up at Scott. “Why would you think I was messing with you?”

Scott’s cheeks turn even pinker in the already pink glow from the room. “Well, you know, because of my—“ Scott gestures towards himself for a second before waving a hand at Stiles. “Everyone was just waiting for you to catch up.”

“For me to catch up?” Stiles asks, tilting his head in confusion.

“Yeah,” Scott nods. “Allison said that you just needed a bit of time, you’re Stiles. Malia said I should just do something about it, my, uh, feelings for you. But Lydia, she said that you needed to figure out your own feelings first because otherwise, it’d just be a big mess.”

“Wait,” Stiles cries, cutting Scott off, “everyone knew I liked you before _I_ knew that I liked you? What the he—“

Scott cuts Stiles off with a kiss, smiling against Stiles's mouth as their lips move together. It’s effective; Stiles can give him credit for that.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time contributing to the Teen Wolf fandom, and the first fic I've written in months, so please be gentle with me. Please let me know if there are any distracting mistakes, I'm as blind as a bat.
> 
> If you want, you find me on [tumblr](http://tonystark1d.tumblr.com/), along with a [rebloggable post](http://tonystark1d.tumblr.com/post/154978123817/a-hazy-shade-of-winter-i-think-you-should-stay) for the fic!


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